Are you proud, dead, having been?
Tranquil, the tumult subtracted
There you are in order.
Your silence is perfect, deeper than
Deserts.
What serves you coming
Hitting your flesh light
space in your body before you
When the air was so calm
And my memory?
I hope a form that seems far away, a mist
the morning you hiding that you suddenly reveals
In those I meet,
A step, a gesture
talk to me about you.
Each day, gently
A dam collapses
entailed by the sea and the dunes and the waves have come to fight.
They say this is so,
As one moves north.
Pierre Jalet
Pascale
photo: pcf
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